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88 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 2004
They shot Him and pushed Him
through the open window of His own church.
God is dead, but he bled and bled
and did not go easily.
-Enter Mecca
I got up (again) &
made coffee & ate bread--
taking one small bite
for each of my dead.
A bite, too, for each
stranger. My mouth
the earth, the bread
the world. A kind of toast
communion. I chewed
& chewed. I'm chewing
still. The bread
their bones, my mouth
the grave. Open &
hard to fill.
-Bread
Understand, the dead
are not angels. Angels
are God's messengers
who take human form
only to bring
the kind of news
no human
wants to hear.
They put on flesh
like rented ball gowns.
The dead put on theirs
like old clothes left
on the chair
the night before--
when they went to bed
late & exhausted.
-When the dead come back,
This is what I think--to love
is to be a heart pushing
blood through the universe.
-Pump